BEYOND THE CODE OF CONDUCT by K.M. Daughters

Title: BEYOND THE CODE OF CONDUCT
Author: K.M. Daughters
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Language: English
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Bobbie Leighton huddled, miserable, in the compact rental car. The defroster and heater fan blasted tepid air in her face but did nothing to penetrate the biting cold. Her windows fogged more each time she exhaled a vaporous breath in the frigid cabin. Rubbing wet circles of condensation from the glass with her gloves, she watched for the arrival of the hearse-led procession at the cemetery.

The assignment that began with attendance at Jimmy Sullivan’s funeral was logical, considering her history with the Sullivan family. None the less, she had begged the Special Agent in Charge to send someone else or, if for no other reason but to save the airfare, have a Special Agent in Chicago question the family.

Her boss was unyielding; the assignment was hers.

She wondered what kind of reception was in store for her, especially from Joe Sullivan. She chewed at the corner of her lip, fearing it would be as frosty as her windshield.

She shivered not only because of the lack of heat, but the chilling implications of Jimmy’s death. He had been murdered, and if her agency’s Intel was right, it might have had something to do with his connection with Bradley Sterling. The Sullivans wouldn’t want her to prove that theory.

The memory of the woeful resonance of the bagpipes reverberating in the great cathedral at the funeral Mass was haunting. Mourners, most of them Chicago PD, had filled hundreds of rows of pews. Yet, only the hearse and two stretch limos glided past her parked car on the skinny road like huge ships sailing through a narrow strait.

The limos parked on the rise ahead of her and emptied with sounds like gunshots cracking the sub-zero air as doors were shoved closed. Six men, surely John Sullivan, his sons and son-in-law, stood in ready formation at the rear of the hearse prepared to carry Jimmy’s casket to the gravesite. The three Sullivan women, arms linked, walked toward the
grave, marked by a mound of frozen clods of grassy soil mixed with snow.

The pallbearers carried Jimmy toward his final rest, dark silhouettes against the pure white landscape and crystalline blue sky.

Bobbie turned off the engine and left the car.

Feeling conspicuous as her boots crunched ice, she was careful not to tramp too heavily on the snow-crusted graves beneath her feet. She neared the group as the men eased the casket onto the interment scaffold. Heads snapped up and all eyes focused on Bobbie, the interloper at a private family funeral.

Jean Sullivan’s eyes bored into her until she nodded in recognition and bowed her head again. Standing at Danny’s right side, Molly’s face bloomed with a smile and she stretched out her arm to encourage Bobbie to flank her in its welcoming circle. Bobbie fell in line.

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit….”

The priest’s intonations and sporadic nose sniffs, the only sounds in their small, sorrowful world. Pressed against Molly’s side, Bobbie ventured a glance at Joe. He wasn’t in uniform. None of the men were—another surprise since she had expected a full-blown Chicago PD funeral. Joe, like his brothers, wore a black wool suit, starched white shirt and
black-on-black striped tie. No rank stripes, department logos or other trappings of law
enforcement were visible. No coats, either. He stood a few feet apart from his siblings in unmovable solitude, the black eye patch he wore at odds with his conservative Sunday suit. His jaw clamped shut; his glacier blue eye stared at the casket. He didn’t deign to give her a single blink.

No surprise there. Maybe it’s for the best. If he
stays away, it might make my job easier.

“May your perpetual light shine upon him,” invoked the priest. “May his soul and all the souls of the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace.”

“Amen.”

An officious undertaker toted an armful of roses. He picked single stems from the bunch, handed one to each of them and instructed them to pay their last respects. Linked to Molly and Danny, Bobbie stepped toward the casket. They placed their flowers atop the lacquered mahogany surface, stood a few moments with bowed heads and moved away from the grave to make room for others.

The brief ceremony complete, the undertaker advanced forward to the head of the casket. “There will be a luncheon reception at the home of Kay and Michael Lynch,” he announced in a soft, silky voice.

“You’ll come, Bobbie?” Molly’s red-rimmed eyes implored her.

“Of course I will.” She patted Molly’s arm. “I’ll meet you there.”

“We have to stop at the house and pick up the kids first.” Molly squeezed her hand and gave her a shy smile. “I can’t wait for you to meet our little ones.”

Guilt sliced through her. “I’ll hardly recognize Amy. I’m sorry, Mol that—”

“Oh God, my baby!” Jean Sullivan’s outburst shattered the stillness and pierced Bobbie’s heart. Danny strode toward his mother. Jean’s living children folded around their mother to shield her from the unthinkable fact that her youngest child would be lowered into the ground forever.

Molly’s body shook and Bobbie engulfed her in a hug to offer what comfort she could. Wobbly, too, she could do nothing but witness the family’s suffering. They helped Jean into the car and Bobbie waited for Molly to join Danny before returning to the rental car.
****
Damn him for buying me that last beer. I never dreamed the likes of Jimmy Sullivan would hit on me at the bar. I wish I could remember. Did I really say anything about the babies? Guess I did. Somehow he knew about the Windsor Village delivery. Even though he asked for my number, I never thought he’d call. But he did. Hell, he even sprang for dinner.

Then back to his place. I knew what was going to happen and with that dreamboat I was ready. Damn him. All he wanted to do was talk about the babies.

“So how does this work? This baby racket deal you got going.”

He laughed when I suggested we work on it in his bedroom. LAUGHED. No one laughs at me. But I told him all about it. Everything. Gave him the intro. Even let him take notes on his computer. Why not? He wasn’t going to tell anyone. Ever.

Look at them all banded together. The high-and- mighty Sullivan family… minus one. Wish they could have seen their precious son on his knees. Wouldn’t beg, though. Not like Daddy. No. Sullivan wanted to negotiate.

Maybe it didn’t have to be that way with Jimmy.

But he lied. They all lie to get what they want.

Greedy bastard.
****
Dispirited and not up to the task before her, Bobbie drove to Kay and Mike’s house. She had to park her car a block away and deal with the bone-chilling walk in the blustery January air.

She trooped into the house behind a line of other guests and entered the familiar foyer. The warmth of pleasant memories in that elegant home and the clamor of conversations around her flooded her senses.

She’d find Kay in the kitchen.

People hovered over a spread of food on the picnic-style table balancing paper plates and plastic utensils. They milled around the refrigerator and sink, Kay, a shiny blonde pixie in their midst.

“Kay, I’m so sorry.” Bobbie rushed toward Jimmy’s sister and threw her arms around her.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Kay’s voice muffled against her shoulder.

Bobbie gently released the embrace and leaned against the center island in the cheerful kitchen. The air was spiced with cinnamon and the cloying sweetness of too many carnations. Condolence bouquets covered most of the countertop space and
baked goods covered the rest.

Kay sniffed and jabbed tears away from under each eye. “I’ve been baking, just baking. All night long. I can’t seem to stop.” She jerked her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “He always loved my baking. Always had a sixth sense that I was taking one of his favorites out of the oven. He would appear out of the blue…”

Kay bent at the waist with the weight of sob- wracked grief.

“Oh, honey…” Bobbie draped an arm over Kay’s shoulder.

“I called him.” Mikey, Kay’s eldest, stepped in front of Bobbie. Already a head taller than his mother, he had the Sullivan men’s Celtic good looks and the long frame that predicted he’d have their impressive physiques as well.

Kay straightened and eyed her son. “What do you mean you called him?”

Mikey grinned at his mother. “I called all the uncles with baking alerts. Charged ‘em five bucks admission, too. How do you think I bought my first bike?”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Kay erupted in a bawdy, Irish barroom laugh. “You little devil.”

Grateful to Mikey for finding a way to lessen his mother’s pain, Bobbie joined in the laughter. They all wiped tears from their eyes when they could breathe again.

“Kay, do you know what Jimmy was working on recently?” Bobbie asked.

Kay gave her a penetrating look. “Not really. Why?”

“There may be a connection with a case I’m working on in New York.”

“Really? How could that be?”

“I don’t know yet. But if I can piece it together, I might be able to help find Jimmy’s killer.”

Kay nodded. “I wish I could help you, but as far as I know his work was routine. You should talk to Daddy and my brothers. They’ll know more.”

“I will.” She kissed Kay on the cheek. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Eat some of this food, will you? Please.”

Bobbie filled a plate and wandered into the crowded den.

“Bobbie, you’re a vision, young lady.” John Sullivan stood up from a couch. “Jean and I are grateful you came all this way to pay your respects to our Jimmy. We’ve been following your career. We’re very proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you. My condolences to you both.” Bobbie glanced down at the bereaved mother, seated on the loveseat.

Jean nodded, her face a mask of grief. John bent down toward his wife and squeezed her hand. “Mr. Sullivan, do you mind answering a few questions about Jimmy’s recent cases?”
“I don’t mind telling you what I know, Bobbie.”

He gave her a wary smile. “Let’s find a place to sit.”

No one knew anything beyond vague generalities. The Sullivan clan was close and they
made it their habit to help each other professionally when asked. Jimmy hadn’t asked for help or advice based on her conversations with his dad and four out of five siblings. That left Joe.

She debated whether to question Joe or not based on the law of percentages. Why deal with him when he probably didn’t know more than any of the other Sullivans?

He didn’t give her a choice. A flighty shimmer of heat dove inside her. She turned as he approached. The shimmer twisted and knotted like an electric vice around her heart. In a second the welcome she intended to give him dissolved. His face was as icy as
the January landscape outside.

He placed a hand around her bicep in a far from gentle grip. “Is it my turn to be interrogated?”

The physical connection jolted to her toes. The pressure of his hand, the hard line of his lips and his level stare rigid—no sign of the boyish sweetness she
remembered.

“Hello, Joe.” She forced a benign smile while she yanked her arm out of his hold. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Save it. Why are you nosing around here?”

“I’m not nosing around.”

Angling her head to study his face, a calm descended. Her work grounded her. She was good at it and even their shared past couldn’t intimidate her from doing her job. “I’m so sorry for what you must be going through. Jimmy was a wonderful person. I can only imagine—”

“Spill it, Bobbie.”

She huffed in exasperation. “Whether you believe it or not, I care deeply about your family. If anything, I’m trying to help catch Jimmy’s killer.”

“What does a Fibbie have to do with a beat cop’s death? What are you working on?”

“I’m developing a case in New York that might have Chicago ties. I think Jimmy knew something about it. Did he mention anything to you about what he was working on?”

“If he did I won’t tell you, unless you tell me exactly why you want to know.”

She searched his face, his eye like a polar tractor beam trained on her. She saw no warmth in that pretty blue iris rimmed in white. His eyes used to spark a sweet playfulness and look at her as if she had hung the moon. The unflinching expression on his face now was more suited to staring down a felony suspect.

She’d done nothing to earn his distrust and longed to undo whatever it was that made him look at her that way. Because she still trusted him.

“There’s a connection between Jimmy and Bradley Sterling, Esquire—a New York hotshot
attorney,” she said. “He’s the subject of the case I’m building. He’s suspected of being the key player in a human trafficking ring. Babies. High-priced, private adoptions. We don’t know how he gets the babies.

And Jimmy talked to him. At least once.”

“Bullshit.”

“There are cell phone records.”

“His phone was stolen.”

“Really?” That knowledge elated her. “When?
Did he report it?”

“Don’t know. His cell is missing. And his laptop was demo’ed. They ransacked his apartment. Nothing is left to go on.”

“Well that tells us something, doesn’t it? Can you get me into his apartment?” She faced him, feet planted. “Look, Joe—”

“We’ll handle it here. I want you off this case.”

“Not likely.” She stared into his eye. “There’s a connection. I just have to determine what and why.”

“You think Jimmy was dirty?”

His tone registered like physical punishment to her. “I don’t think anything. I know—.”

“Forget it.”

He stalked away.

She didn’t think Jimmy was dirty, but it would do no good to follow Joe and keep hammering that home. She sighed and searched the crowded room for someone to chat with.

Everyone seemed linked in pairs. Displaced as well as aggravated, she left Kay’s house as soon as she could for another dip into the refrigerated outdoors.

The cold didn’t penetrate to her bones like it had before. Downright warm out here compared to standing next to Joe. She slid into the car, the vinyl seats stiff and crackling beneath her, and turned on the motor. She revved it a couple times and let it idle, deep in
thought.

She’d stick around for the weekend to poke around Jimmy’s precinct and catch up with Molly’s beautiful brood. And to think. Hard. About the Sullivans, Joe in particular. She’d figure it all out. She always did.
****
Two days later Bobbie hugged Molly’s family good-bye. Spit-up on the shoulder of her coat, she set out for O’Hare airport. Molly lived near the center of town and Bobbie had her choice of back street routes to get to the Interstate: the most direct would take
her past Joe’s condo complex.

With time to spare, she could take a longer route and circumvent the memory of the brutal attack in Joe’s parking lot. But avoidance was never her style. She drove to the spot where a killer had slashed her and nearly made her his sixth victim.
She parked her rental car in Joe’s empty parking space beneath a willow tree that loomed
larger than it had more than six years ago. She let the engine idle as she recalled the event in vivid detail.

A flash of naked terror took her breath. His vileness, the brute strength of his grip had turned her into a frail rag doll. But she had used her head to buy time just like Joe had taught her. Then Joe was there. From the ground she saw his bare feet planted in the grass and his calm voice demanded that her assailant drop his weapon. A gun fired and
it was over. She inhaled a deep cleansing breath. It was
over.

She swiveled in her seat and searched through the rear window. Joe lost his eye just over there. And she focused on the spot where she lost Joe.